I would not have named my blog Greeker, for i know not what it means. But after 15 names for a blog, which all gave me the same reply - that the name was unavailable, as an act of desperation, i became a Greeker - A man for whom blogging is still greek and the Internet, Latin. No offense to a single soul...
I am now, by choice, a Greeker!

Monday, November 03, 2008

27 years a go, my appachan wished to see me hold a little bag, with a tiffin box and water bottle in it, and happily hop off to school.

27 years later, I wished that my ammachy could see my child do the same.

Both those dreams, which were happy thoughts when first dreamt, will now never happen. The sun around which our familial planets revolved, set one final time. Almost her entire family sat by her, singing hymns that she taught us throughout her 73-year-old pious life.

I believe that she waited for months, biting down searing pain, just to see me, before she became a collection of beautiful memories. She shunned death with the same gritty determination that made her the adorable woman she was. Aware of the depth of illness, the entire family got together to celebrate the Christmas of ’07. I lost my chance. To this day, I sport an empty chapter in my book of memories…

When my appachan passed, leaving her midway through their journey of life, she never once broke her stride. Her step-in into the great big void was effortless and natural. She easily kissed things back to life and we started living again…

The family built their annual get-togethers around her. Never once, until her very last, did she admit that she was tired. She proudly took the reins in hand and led us from the front. We laughed and she laughed with us. We cried and she always said never again…

And then as gently as a little stream ebbing away, her life began to seep out…

I’m happy that I spent some quality time with her, at the fag end of her days on earth.

I used to kneel by her bed, gently massaging her hands and feet, listening to the incomprehensible once-in-a-while utterances, talking to her, letting her know that I was just a breath away…

I once gathered her up in my arms, from the hospital bed to the comfort of her little bed at home, just like she did over a million times with me, at different stages of my growth…

It’s hard to imagine an empty house, without her reassuring presence. It’s hard to imagine a life without her, and her gentle toothy smile. It’s hard to imagine, that in a moment, time stood still and that it would never come back…